USS Stonewall Jackson BoxSet

by Stephen Makk

  “Owl one from Owl three, I have one plus bogie at range 67 kilometres, bearing eight degrees, altitude 200. Over.”

  “Copy Owl three, this is Owl one, information?”

  Lieutenant Ahmet Celasin, Turkish Airforce, ran his eyes across the radar screen return. He pushed the stick down and came to the left to bring his nose in line with the contact.

  His F16C rolled smoothly through the sky. The 192nd Tiger squadron fighter flew Combat Air Patrol out from Balikesir in Western Turkey.

  “Owl one, I have possible three or four bogies, heading two eight five for Istanbul, speed three five zero km. No IFF or civilian transponder.”

  “Say again, no IFF?”

  “Copy sir, no IFF or transponder.”

  “Copy Owl three and two, intercept contact. Owl one and four will stand off to the east.”

  “Copy.” Celasin pushed his throttle forward.

  “Owl two. Keep one point five km to my west.”

  “Copy.”

  “Owl three from Owl one. Get visual.”

  “Copy visual.” The F16C raced in, Celasin drew level with the contacts and flew a left-hand orbit. He broke through cloud base and approached from behind to the left within one kilometre. Three multi engine aircraft with faint wispy vapour trails from the turbo prop engines trailed them. They flew at less than 2,000 feet, and he saw the sea surface waves below.

  “Owl one, Owl three. I have visual on contacts. Three Russian Ilyushin Il-38 ASW aircraft. Am moving up ahead to draw away.” Celasin flew his aircraft up in front of the three Russian turboprops and banked to the right to warn them off. He repeated the move.

  “Owl one, I repeated warning. Contact is still Istanbul bound, over.”

  Owl one reported the incident to Balikesir. He waited until the contacts had crossed the control line.

  “Owl three, Air one gives you weapons clear, repeat weapons clear, execute.”

  “Copy Owl one, I am execute free.” Celasin swallowed; this had never been done before. He throttled back and fell ten km behind the contact, he’d give them a chance, so he switched to international frequency in the clear.

  “Russian Il-38 flight you will turn north now. Repeat Russian Il-38 flight you will turn north.”

  Seconds later came the reply in a thick Russian accent.

  “Monkey on my tail, you will fuck you.”

  Celasin narrowed his eyes. He set master arm on and selected AMRAMM. The symbol on his radar screen changed to a target. The target flashed red. He held his finger over the pickle button. Waited, and pressed. The missile fell from its hardpoint, ignited the motor and sped off toward its target.

  “Fox three.” Seconds later he saw the flash in his domed cockpit window, the radar screen confirmed the hit and the target fell into the sea.

  “Owl one, Owl three, splash bogie. Confirm, we have one bogie down.”

  The air war had begun.

  WITH THE CURRENT FLOW in the deeper level of the Bosporus being south to north, Franks didn’t want to keep the boat in reverse. He needed it to be quiet. “All stop. Trim for up bubble ten. Vent front and rear 25 percent. We’ll settle here and wait for them.”

  The boat sank slowly to the channel bed where she kicked up a cloud of billowing silt. She settled in the dark narrow channel and waited.

  “COB,” said Franks, “Lieutenant Commander Blake has briefed Herzer, tell him to prepare and get a seaman to stand by for a signalling relay. Better use an A-ganger with a big hammer.”

  “Sir.”

  The COB set up the signalling chain. Talk about improvised, thought the COB.

  It took less than two hours for the enemy to draw in.

  “Sir,” said Nosey, “I have multiple subsurface contacts to the north heading our way. Probable Kilo class. I also have faint distant surface contacts, these seem to be standing off.”

  “Ok, Nosey. Let me know when they’re seven miles away.”

  The minutes went by.

  “Contacts. Three Kilos, range seven miles, sir.”

  “Weaps?”

  “Designate left to right Tangos one to three.”

  Nathan’s fingers ran over his screen. “Firing solutions laid in sir.”

  “Ready solution for Tango three. Prepare for launch.”

  Nathan worked on his console as indicators flashed on the Weapons CPO’s station in the torpedo room.

  “Sir, tube three selected. Mk 48. Firing solution laid in. Kilo designated Tango three, tube three. Flooding tube three. Outer doors open. Fish ready in all respects. Fish is hungry sir.”

  “Range six point four miles,” said Nosey.

  “Trim forward and aft, fill 20 percent, come to depth two five zero.”

  “Two five zero aye sir.” The boat rose from the channel bed.

  Franks waited until he estimated the enemy were within six miles away.

  “Launch tube three.” There was a gushing sound from up forward.

  “Good launch, tracking Tango three, I’m taking the fish to the east,” said Nathan. “I’m going for a top down shot.”

  “Fish, range to target three miles,” said Nosey.

  “Steering fish into target. Closing, pinging, fish pinging. Cutting wire.” The Mk 48’s onboard sonar was tracking the Kilo.

  “Sir, Kilo has launched countermeasures early,” said Nosey.

  “He’s going up. He’s blown ballast. Fish rising, range point two miles. Closing, pinging, closing. Yes, got him. Hot datum on Tango three. Huge gas escape, prop racing. Impact with the seabed. Tango is down sir.”

  One down, now they knew he waited for them. The element of surprise was gone.

  “Sir, Tangos one and two have increased revs. They’re bearing down on us. Range two point six miles.”

  Franks waited, not yet.

  “Launch on Tango two.”

  “Flooding tube two. Outer doors open. Fish ready in all respects. Fish is hungry, launch two Sir. Good launch. Running.”

  “Both Tangos running in at us, max revs sir,” said Nosey.

  “Make full revs, engage reverse.”

  “Reverse aye sir.”

  Franks did his calculations. “Let me know when Tangos get to one point two miles.”

  “Sir, fish is pinging, running in for Tango two,” said Nathan, “cutting wire.”

  “Fish closing on Tango two. He’s fixed. He’s not taking any action. Wait, Tango’s going to his starboard. He’s late.” Nosey punched the air.

  “Hot datum Tango two. Gas escape. Secondary explosion.” Nosey looked at Franks. “Tango isn’t down sir, he’s just not fucking there.” He looked back to his console display. “Range on Tango one now one point two miles.”

  “COB, signal Herzer.” The COB nodded back down the companionway.

  At the base of the sail an Engineer fitter, an A-ganger, struck the lower hatch with his heavy baby beater three times.

  Inside the sail cylinder was Herzer, the boat’s diver. He wore his diving suit and rebreather apparatus, the upper hatch had been opened and the cylinder was open to the sea. Attached to one of the ladder’s rungs were several submarine escape suits known as Submarine Escape Immersion Equipment Mk 10 or SEIE. These suits, filled with air, would allow the crew to ascend from a stricken submarine from a depth of six hundred feet. They were known by many as WAEFFO suits: When All Else Fails Fuck Off suits.

  Herzer heard the three loud bangs, pulled a suit clear and opened the small air cylinder. The suit partly inflated and quickly rose up the cylinder and out, on its way to the surface.

  A US Marine with binoculars sat at one end of the huge bridge looking for the ascending suits reaching the surface. He saw it and picked up his radio mike.

  “Watch party west, watch party west. We have a signal on the surface.”

  “Copy, watch party.” At five locations across the bridge, Marines had hung 155mm Howitzer shells deep down into the sea.

  “Signal on the surface. Detonate the IED.” A Marine turned the blast charge han
dle. Deep below the surface, the shell detonated. Gas escaped from the explosion to the surface of the sea.

  “Right, get the next ones in.” The Marines lowered another shell, held by its cable, which was wrapped in detonation cord, down into the sea. There it would hang until the next suit appeared on the surface.

  It was crude, but the submarine and the Marines above had a signalling system. The submarine’s distance to the bridge would be factored in along with how long it took for the suit to reach the surface. If an enemy submarine approached, the Marines would detonate a 155mm shell and hope it would be on or near the target.

  “Kilo is running in close to the bridge sir.”

  “Weaps launch tube one.”

  “Sir, tube one selected. Firing solution laid in on Tango one, tube one. Flooding tube, outer doors open. Fish ready in all respects. Fish is hungry sir. Launching.” A rushing sound came from up forward.

  “Good launch. Fish running, pinging, pinging. Cutting wire.”

  “Sir, Tango one’s got a fish off, fish running in. Goddamn close.”

  “Countermeasures, port side, come hard to starboard. Blow ballast.”

  “Sharp transients. Shells going off sir,” said Nosey.O ne IED blew close to the target, I can hear hull buckling noises. That must have hurt. Kilo is heading down. I can hear an impact with the seabed. Our fish is running in fast, pinging, closing.” Russian Type 53 was closing in. There was a ripping boom to port, the boat rolled, and Franks held on. Cortez wasn’t quite so quick and he fell to the deck, but climbed back up holding his ribs. The boat came to its central position. The enemy fish had gone for the countermeasures.

  In the strait, it was like fighting in a locker box, and the trailing lure was useless.

  Nosey barked excitedly. “Oh wow. Hot datum Tango one, sir. Kilo down, Kilo down. He’s sucking mud.”

  Franks ran his hands through his hair and blew his cheeks. How much more of this would there be?

  “The IEDs worked Nathan, well done. Well done the Marines too, they’re in the ASW game now.”

  “Sir, they’ll hit this place hard now,” said Nathan.

  “I know, bastards.”

  Nathan pursed his lips.

  “They’ll have their air hitting this place if they can. The Russian air force will be swarming up there. Any new Russian boats coming through will be ready too.”

  Franks hadn’t wanted to do it. They’d done well, the enemy had lost boats. A serious amount of them. But there comes a time...

  “Sir, I have a contact approaching the strait. It’s an Akula class.”

  “How far, Nosey?”

  Two point five miles sir.” It was too far away to use the IEDs.

  “OK, Planesman come about.”

  The boat turned to the south.

  Franks looked at Nathan. “Lieutenant commander Blake.” Nathan looked into his commander's fixed gaze. “This is the day Nathan. The day we’ll tell them about; men and women who’ll be sorry they weren’t here. We’ll stand and say, that day, I was on the USS New York City.” Franks paused. “It’s time to withdraw to the Hot Gates and make our last stand.”

  Chapter 15

  THE HOT GATES. TWO hundred and fifty feet deep.

  USS NYC HEADED SOUTH towards the Fatih Sultan Mehmet Koprusu suspension bridge.

  “Sir, the submarine canyon twists left and right here,” said Pigeon. “First heading; bearing two six eight degrees. One minute, 25 seconds at 14 knots.”

  “Do as she requests Planesman, maintain depth at two five zero feet. Pigeon, order course changes and runtimes as you see them. Relay the course to the Planesman.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Franks grinned at his Weapons Officer.

  “Your Operation VOROTA’s going well. How’s it feel to be one of them?”

  Nathan frowned. “One of who, sir?”

  “A Spartan. That’s what you planned, that’s what you said. We use the Bosporus like ‘The Hot Gates’ at the battle of Thermopylae.”

  “Sir, I used an example.”

  “Blake, I remember what you said.... We’ll hold them at ‘The Hot Gates’. It was the narrowest point at Thermopylae. Where a small Spartan force held off a Persian Army.

  We’ll fight an underwater Thermopylae and hold back the Russian hordes.” Franks smiled.

  “What’s VOROTA mean, Blake?”

  “Russian for ‘gate’, sir.”

  Franks grinned. “Then I suppose Lieutenant Commander, that changes our boat’s designation?”

  “Sir?” he gave Franks a quizzical stare.

  “USS. United States Ship. I suppose that now becomes United Spartan Ship?” Franks laughed.

  THE CITIZENS OF ISTANBUL were aware of the general situation; they’d seen the TV reports, read the newspapers. They’d seen the Army on the streets, heard the Air Force flying over the city. Life, by and large though, went on as normal. Cafes served meals, buses and cars drove by. Shops saw trade as normal. People gossiped, laughed, argued, walked hand in hand, drank in bars. The city did what cities do the world over. People sat in bars and cafes by the Bosporus drinking coffee, wine, tea, Raki and beer. They out looked out over the shimmering waterway to the far side of the city.

  But hidden deep below the waters, in their midst, the USS NYC sailed south through the dark unseen canyons. The cold shadow of unseen depths were her home, and she knew her home by sound alone. The city was oblivious to the deathmatch going on in their midst.

  THE BOAT HAD STREAMED her towed array sonar behind. It was only 200 feet away, but gave some information on the situation in her wake.

  “Sir, I have contact with the Akula, he’s following us down the channel.”

  “What do you think he’ll see, Nosey?”

  “He’ll have the upgraded Mk 540 sonar sir, they’re not bad. With the canyon’s echos I don’t think he’ll have a lot of trouble. But he will go blind as we change course and turn a corner.”

  LEOPARD, AKULA CLASS SSN.

  ORLOV WAS FURIOUS. This enemy boat, probably a Virginia class, had sunk several Fleet submarines including Sokolov’s Volk.

  “Can you hear the bastard?”

  “Yes sir, it can be awkward in this чертов ‘fucking’ channel, but I can keep with him.”

  “Let me hear.” He passed Captain Orlov the headset. Orlov listened and frowned.

  “It sounds like a rushing sound with a deep throbbing layered over it sir.”

  He listened. Sometimes he had it, sometimes there was nothing but deep echoes. Orlov tried, but it wasn’t his forte.

  “Here, you do it. But keep the bastard in view, or whatever you call it. I want that ублюдок; bastard.”

  “Come to one eight two degrees sir.”

  “One eight two.”

  “One eight two aye,” said the Planesman.

  “Weapons Officer. Compute a Type 53 firing solution on this Yankee boat.”

  “Sir, I have a calculation on him, it’s difficult with his pump jet drive and this damn tunnel that we’re in. But I have a solution. Tube one is ready with Type 53.”

  “Flood tube one.”

  He wanted this Virginia, but he had to be ready, it wasn’t the time yet. Leopard would get her chance and, when she did, she wouldn’t miss.

  “PLANESMAN COMING UP on course change,” said Pigeon, “come to two one eight on my mark. Three, two one. Go.” The boat turned to starboard, the crew were pushed towards the left and they held on. She set her timer for the next leg and started the two minute 35 second countdown.

  LEOPARD STRUGGLED TO keep up, they were following the Virginia, and Orlov could tell they knew the channel. Not surprising really.

  “Bastards, we should have good charts of this place. The Black Sea Fleet got too damn complacent.”

  “NOSEY, WHERE’S HE TURNING? Exactly where?”

  “He’s turning right where we are, Pigeon.” She thought about this. Maybe?

  “Sir, permission to take us right up against the w
all,” asked Pigeon, “he’s trusting us.”

  Franks knew what she was thinking. Trouble was, he needed to trust her too. If she got it wrong they’d be a several thousand ton battering ram, and the canyon wall would win the argument.

  “Go on, do it; but Pigeon. Get it right.”

  She looked at her counter. “Planesman coming up on course change, make this one quick and hard.” said Pigeon. “Come to one seven four on my mark.” She added some time to the count. “Three, two one. Go.” The boat turned hard to starboard. The crew hung on.

  “Shit,” said Nosey.

  “I could hear the wall compression flow. That was goddamn close, Pigeon.”

  “Do you want me to drive, Nosey?”

  “Do I fuc...”

  Leopard turned hard, and as the tail came about there was a scrape on the rear hull.

  Orlov cursed his Planesman.

  The two boats raced down the twisting canyon. In the blackness Leopard scraped again.

  “Last run Sir, we’re two minutes 18 seconds from the bridge.”

  “Let me know when we’re ten seconds away.”

  “Akula is still behind us, he’s hit the wall twice sir,” said Nosey.

  “His fault, following a woman driver,” said Pigeon. “Ten seconds sir.”

  Franks counted down. “Hard a port, full reverse revs.”

  “Aye sir.” The boat turned and faced the oncoming enemy.

  “Weaps, get a Mk 48 in him.”

  “Sir, tube three selected. Designate target Tango one. Firing solution laid in on Tango one, tube three. Flooding tube, outer doors open. Fish ready in all respects. Fish is hungry sir. Launching.” From up forward there was a loud double click.

  Franks looked at Blake.

  “Sir, sounds like a release clamp.”

  “What?”

  Nathan got off the intercom to the Weapons CPO. “Yes Sir, release clamp jam. Draining tube to clear it.”

  Franks knew out there was an Akula preparing to fire and here he was with his dick in his hand.